Pacific Rim AU

[substituteskull]

"John Watson. It's been too long. Much too long."

That voice behind him is cringe-worthy but all John does is frown into his glass of ale and hope that by ignoring the man, he'll go away. Getting rid of Mycroft Holmes, however, is impossible. John sucks in a breath and turns on his stool, all tight lipped smiles and British hospitality. He even offers his hand, the right one, even though it still shakes from time to time. "Marshall Holmes. What are you doing here? Catching the match? Man U is winning."

The football game is, however, something John's not interested in. He'd just wanted to get away for a little while. Seeing Mycroft now brings back too much.

The Marshall does not take John's hand and instead makes a little humming noise in the back of his throat before he asks John if he might speak with him. In private. Outside. John complies. He has to, he still has respect for the man, even if he pretty much banished him from the Jaeger program. Not his fault, John reminds himself. Not Mycroft's fault at all.

"If this is about retaining me for ranger evaluation--"

But Mycroft cuts him off. "No, John. I'd like to bring you back into the program."

John understandably stiffens. "You know I can't do that. Who in their bloody right minds would want to Drift with me after--"

Mycroft holds up a hand and John's temper cools again. He'd apologize but military men have a problem with that sometimes. "Vatican Cameo won't respond properly to any of our other pilots. I'm sure you heard about what happened in Hawaii last week."

John nods.

"Good. I'll send a helicopter for you tomorrow and I'll see you in the Shatterdome bright and early."

John can't help but scowl. "Yes, fine, but who is going to--"

"Let me worry about that, John."

Comments

[noshit]

Did... did John just guilt him into this? Or at least try to. It wouldn't have worked, but what did work was the other man's passion. When it flares up and he can really see it it's like drawing a moth to a flame. Sherlock can't help but want to get closer.

He wants to correct John in saying that he doesn't need any training. Sherlock has never stopped training, but John has already given him orders and is all but storming off. So he'll stand there a moment, letting it sink in. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but as the other Ranger had said, he needed to at least try.

So John may be surprised, or not really, to see Sherlock there two hours later, being suited up. His first time. All of this is his first time. John is his first Drift partner, though most Rangers didn't get the second chance to find another, most couldn't handle losing that connection with their first. Especially if they died. Lucky for John his hadn't.

"Fancy seeing you here." Sherlock drawls, trying to sound like this isn't the most exciting thing of his life right now. Enthusiasm, what's that?

[substituteskull]

Dressed in only his circuitry suit while the engineers buzz around him and Sherlock trying to get their battle armor into place, John glances over at his reluctant partner and just nods at him. He'll leave the elation to the actual Drift, where he won't be able to hide it anyhow. "Just try not to throw up," he prompts and is somewhat forcefully pushed forward a bit as the spinal clamps are pressed into and connected to the back of the drivesuit. The armor is a little more beat up than he remembers, it could use another gloss of white paint, but it will do. This is just for a test after all.

John accepts his helmet from one of the wayward technicians and nods at her before leading the way into the conn-pod. Relay gel slides between the helmet and the circuitry suit, making his skin chill almost immediately before the tingling subsides and he can reach for the harness. Right side.

Emotional control.

Sherlock will take the left. Logic.

They'll share the rest, move as one-- That is, if Sherlock's mind doesn't immediate reject him. He doesn't watch the other man strap himself in either. He might be tempted to give pointers and he wants to get away from that. They should learn this together. It's less traumatic that way. Maybe. John's probably making that up to combat the way his heart races.

The AI counts them down from twenty and the men and women in the LOCCENT do the same, spouting numbers and figures as their biosigns are read back.

"Three. Two--"

The Drift hits like a punch. It takes his breath away.

[noshit]

"I'll be fine." Sherlock comments back, not hiding his annoyance with how long this was taking. Too long for him.

He can handle this. Just like the simulations. He can handle it. Still, it doesn't mean he won't take some cues from John, copying him but from the left side instead. Everything goes according to what he's practiced, but instead of pairing with an AI in a simulation there was another person beside him. John Watson, a man he barely knew in person, but had learned plenty about from the information his brother had given him.

This is real. Real. He thinks it, over and over. As the AI counts down, Sherlock finds himself glancing over at John, looking away only right before 'one' and then-

Everything comes at him all at once. Living John's life in mere seconds as their minds connect, as they become one. Flashes of memories that make him want to slow them down, to find out every little detail, but it's the memory of that day when he was injured that puts him back on course. He knows this, yes, don't linger on the memories, Sherlock. Don't chase the rabbit.

Still it's all much more than he'd imagined, nothing anyone could tell him about Drifting could ever prepare him for how this felt. It was a shock to the system to be sure, knocked the breath right out of him. Though thankfully everything comes out fine on his end, he only hoped John would fair similarly.

[substituteskull]

Silvery-blue memories form and convolesce, pushing in and out of each other, running together, touching. Embracing. Sherlock's life runs in front of him and through him, the young boy with the rat's nest curls almost blowing up his school, watching his father stoically walk out on them, his mother's inability to comfort a boy with too much intellect and a tacit degree of boredom bordering on the sociopathic. John isn't without his childhood flaws. Born Scottish, moved to London, he forced himself to change his accent early on. His sister did too. Small, always small, he'd been picked on mercilessly. Until he faught back.

No one picked on him after he knocked in a few heads.

Where Sherlock spend his late teens going over cases, John played rugby, went off to war. In their twenties, Sherlock took up drug use, the memory of the needle plunging heroine once more into his arm cut away by John surgically removing shrapnel from a little boy caught in military crossfire.

Sherlock might not linger on memories, but John certainly does. His sister. The alcoholism--

It hits him so hard in the face with the memory of what happened the last day they'd been in the Vatican Cameo. So many people had been hurt--

"Ah-- Ah, God!" he vocalizes, hand shaking in the control sphere.

[noshit]

Everything seems to be going well, going really much better than Sherlock expected. Maybe this was right, maybe John had been right to think they were really compatible. He'd have to thank Mycroft... okay no, that's going a bit too far.

It's almost too sudden when John shouts, as if he's hurt, or something has happened.

"John? John what's the matter?" Sherlock tries to talk to him, but it doesn't seem to work.

"John, whatever you're seeing it's not happening. It's just a memory!" Try to talk sense into him. Don't let John chase the rabbit.

"John!"

[substituteskull]

Luckily for the Drift -- or perhaps unluckily -- John isn't the only one that gets to experience this little memory in all of it's visual and audible glory. No, Sherlock is right there too. Right there, standing beside John in his Drivesuit and harnessed in next to his sister as she goes limp, passed out from too much alcohol. John's attempt to compensate ends up a huge mess. Sherlock knew the details, but he'd never got to experience them.

And now he does. Now he knows why John washed out. Now he can understand. For better or for worse, this is the damage John deals with. Not even his time in Afghanistan at work can compare to the mess he and his sister made.

The test comes to an abrupt end and their Drift immediately cuts off. Sherlock is left to pull out of his harness if he wants and John is just going to go limp in his, knees giving out for a moment before he comes too, breathing hard.

"Mycroft...is your...brother..."

Because yes. Most important conversation to have now.

"Explains a lot."

[noshit]

It's strange. One moment he's yelling at John, the next he's in the memory as well. Standing there as if he'd been there all along. He can't even speak as he watches it all happen, moving around to observe Harry and then his eyes lock onto John. John who is scared, frightened and tries so hard to control Vatican Cameo on his own, but there aren't many who can. No matter how valiantly they try.

It's all down hill from there, a beautiful mess of a memory that is so sharp in detail and sound, he's sure he could taste it too if there was anything to taste then.

But then they're back, back again in real time and Sherlock sucks in a breath not realizing he'd stopped breathing during it all. The Drift suddenly ending was more a slap in the face then being in John's memory had been by far. He blinks and looks down, quickly getting himself out of his harness to come try and get John out of his.

"Does it?" Sherlock isn't sure what would be acceptable conversation right now, not that he's ever cared about what is and isn't acceptable. He'll get John out of the harness and help him sit, no doubt he needs to right now, and joins him, pulling off his helmet.

"... not what I expected." He'll state, meaning the whole drifting thing in general. He's fairly certain they've not passed, by the way the Drift had suddenly cut off, before they could properly finish it.

[substituteskull]

With most Drifting occurring because of the connection to the machine, it doesn't surprise John to have it cut off like that. It usually happens that way, though there's a period of cooling between pilots when they can withdraw from shared headspace before the connection is severed. Having it done so abruptly-- Well that had been a manual cut. He has a slight headache from it, but they hadn't been completely synced in with an entire Jaeger. Small miracles. Small wonders.

Happy coincidences. No one has to deal with a nosebleed today!

John tilts his head against Sherlock's shoulder to alleviate the tension in his neck after the helmet is yanked off. The engineers and medical ought to be running in here any second now, John imagines, having no idea that Mycroft is holding them back.

Watching them interact now.

"What were you expecting," John asks with a laugh. "Because you really can say that you now, officially, know me better than anyone else."

And the same is true for Sherlock. Someone knows him, completely, and is not pulling away.

"I'll do better next time. I'll focus. No more chasing R.A.B.I.T.s."

[noshit]

Sherlock wonders why no one has come up yet, but he's rather fine with it. He didn't want the hustle and bustle of idiots up here. The contact of John's head against his shoulder does have him glancing at the other man... it's strangely intimate, yet not at all. He doesn't care for people touching him at all, he's not a personal sort, not this way.

But it's the fact that John is doing that, is close to him like this and he seems fine with it. More than fine. He's not trying to get up and leave and calling Sherlock a freak or madman. He's just sitting here with him, laughing, leaning against him like they've known each other all their lives. Then again seeing each others memories like they just had was a good kick start for knowing one another.

"Then we're the same in that regard. Not even Mycroft knows everything about me." John's seen some things even his brother hasn't. At the mention of a next time he frowns a little, brow furrowing.

"... I'm not sure there will be a next time." After what happened they might not want to try with Sherlock and John again. They'd try to find someone different for him, blame it on him for John not being able to focus.

He wanted a next time, he really did, but Sherlock couldn't see it happening.

[substituteskull]

"There's going to be a next time," he tells the man, self classified as genius and yet fully aware that Sherlock is, truly, a genius. He's seen him guess the impossible in memories. No, not guess. Deduce. He'd have made a fantastic detective in another life. "The way we Drift is perfect."

Minus some of the hangups, but that's just natural. He hadn't even clicked that well with Harry at first. It's sort of hard to go through sexual experiences with your sister...though oddly, easier in the same regard as brothers must find it as she'd only slept with women.

He's already on his feet before anyone comes to join them. Standing straight and proud, shoulders squared, John faces Mycroft, cane and all, and scowls up at him. He's waiting for an argument to come for John to keep looking, but there are engineers and conn-pod crews coming in behind him to unhook their drive suits.

"Rangers Watson and Holmes, we'll begin in earnest tomorrow then, shall we?"

John doesn't smile, not outwardly, and won't until he and Sherlock are alone again. "Yes, sir."

[noshit]

He wants to believe it with every part of his soul, the words sound so good to him as John speaks them. He wanted to feel the way their minds had connected again during the Drift, it was an amazing rush, better than any drug induced one he'd ever had before. And lucky for John he hadn't had to deal with sexual experiences in Sherlock's memories.

Sherlock found the idea of it dull, a distraction from his experiments and research. Beyond the fact that he'd never found anyone worth being distracted by.

When Mycroft comes in, others flooding in behind him to remove them from their suits, his eyes are narrowed slightly, expecting the worst. Yet that's not the case, only Mycroft could trick him into thinking it was, but then he's calling them both Rangers and relief floods him.

"Yes, fine." No 'sir', no respect. Sherlock is as always, a total twat when it comes to his brother. He gets a look from Mycroft for it, but his brother knows he won't get any better than that. After they've been removed from their suits and lead back down out of Vatican Cameo, Sherlock knows he needs time to dissect every little thing he'd seen in John's memories.

"..." He'll be deep in thought already, fingers running over lips as he ponders everything over. Rather a party pooper, he should be wanting a hard drink after that, shouldn't he?

All my Johns forever. I feel so much better. <33

[substituteskull]

"Do you want something to eat...?" John asks what seems like quite suddenly. "You haven't had a thing since tea yesterday afternoon." No one has to guess how John knows that. Mycroft, though, with his slightly pained, indigestive smile shakes his head. The man acts as if he can hardly stand up, always leaning on something, never walking far.

This stroll down the corridor seems to be utterly endless for Mycroft but John humours him when he tells the blond not to bother with his brother now. "I very much doubt he'll even speak, much less eat. You see, Ranger Watson, my brother prefers to fast. It helps his mind work and right now, he's learning what it's like to be of two minds. It's a great deal of date to digest. Do not feel strangely if you are not engaged. But do bring him along with you to eat and I'd like the both of you to report for more training first of the hour in the combat room."

John's still surprised at that, enough to be standoffish with the other man. He smirks wryly as the engineers and the Marshall veer off and away from them.

"I'm not sure I care for him," he admits to Sherlock freely.

/gathers up John and you, never lets go <3

[noshit]

The corner of Sherlock's mouth quirks as Mycroft talks about him, his brother speaks as if he's not there, as if he's brain dead and can't speak up for himself. He can, just have to give him a moment to fully ingest everything his mind has seen. Sherlock doesn't want to just see it, he wants to understand every part, every second.

He's been given this privilege to see every part of this other man's life and it's so different from his own, it's really amazing to see how another lived compared to him in such detail. Growing up with a sibling as well, one that was a headache for them too, granted in a much different way.

Once Mycroft is gone his eyes flicker to look where his brother's back had retreated to, then he's glancing at John. John. John Watson. The man who's life was in his head now.

"... not an uncommon reaction." To them, he should say. And he will speak, just probably in a distracted sort of tone. Eating though, no, not going to do that, too much to pick apart and concentrate on. Though his eyes will linger on John, silently asking if he's alright. That was an experience for him as it was, no doubt it had been twice as much for John when he'd locked onto that memory.

"But he isn't incorrect, I'm not interested in eating." John will have to fix this odd habit to a degree, drifting with him and then not eating would be a bad bad habit especially with them starting training. Sherlock would need to be fit to do that after all. Fasting hardly did him good in that area.

<33333333333333333

[substituteskull]

"You don't have to be interested in it, but you still have to do it," John says immediately, hands at his sides rather than in his pockets. A true military man. He doesn't give Sherlock a smile either when the other looks at him. Sternness is something Sherlock respects. He's seen his childhood after all, how his mother handled him. Strong, but allowing the boy his freedom to explore, mentally, if perhaps never quite encouraging him to go outside of the family garden. Understandable. Sherlock, even as a child, had been unnerving.

There hadn't been skinned knees from climbing trees or proving that height has nothing to do with toughness with the neighbourhood lads for Sherlock Holmes. And yet, he'd not been entirely intellectual either.

He's seen the judo training and--

Well, they'd fought together. It'd been exhilerating and John looks forward to another session soon.

"Have something to eat because you'll get to me in my head again tomorrow and I don't want us both to pass out because you neglected yourself. We're a team now, Sherlock. We come as a pair. And if you won't look after your body, I will."

[noshit]

... for all that he could tell John to shove off and let him eat when he wanted, he does have a point. Sherlock isn't just on his own now. They're a pair, they have to work together.

And there in lies the problem.

"You'll do what?" Sherlock's brows furrow as he looks at John. He almost makes it seem like he'll force feed him if necessary, or that's just the sternness of the Ranger speaking, not an actual threat. Perhaps a bit of both. Either way, he'd like to see him try.

"You hardly have to hold my hand like a child, John." He says, sounding much like an annoyed child. Funny that.

"I know my limits." He'll assure him. This is coming from the man who used to be a heavy drug user and regularly forgot to eat. The eating bit still happens now, more so because he just doesn't care to. The drugs... on occasion, but he's sure that won't be happening again. His teammate is quite the tip top, straight laced man after all.